The Rising - Ennead 1

Act 11

Brianna O'Hanlon

We're free!

For a moment after the Magus girl - Temi's, instant 'shift out of the courtyard of doom, I doubted it. Thought was an illusion. But the air, so different from the sorry type we have in London, that was solid proof.

I have no idea how she did it. She's worked a miracle. It's true that the blowback from whatever she did took a little bit out me and the guys. Every one who was in harmony is helpless, almost immobile (Kyle is out cold), But we'll be good. It damaged her more than it did us.

The survivors stand up slowly around me. In the pitch black of the night they can barely see anything, but they eventually find each other by touch. There's a lot of crying and hugging going on.

My muscles are jelly right now. I'll have to wait a while to partake in the festivities.

"No."

For some reason I catch her whimper. Before I can 'send out a question to her, she screams out.

"RUN!!"

"RUNNNNN!!"

Mahmoud Ahmad

I've never really seen Bree. I mean, she's pretty cool - but now I really see her beautiful. It's the weirdest thing you know? Coming out of all I've been through tonight, I've found that

"RUN!!"

"RUNNNNN!!"

Temi's scream breaks the silence of the Tor where she phased us. I sense the reason why almost instantly. The steel jaws of the silent cage that enclosed us before slam shut again!

The survivors are still keyed up with leftover adrenaline. They're wise enough to run for a couple of lights on the horizon. Beacons of civilization, a refuge from whatever monster would crawl out of the night this time.

They don't have a chance. The enemy fade into existence around us, encircling as they close the circle tighter and tighter. We're surrounded. There's only a whip blade magus and an injured soldier between us and the end.

The darkling horde stops. Thousands of hungry eyes surround us, and even though they're a couple of yards away their malevolence rolls over me, smothering my senses.

One of the dark hounds saunters forward. The lighting is too bad for me to say exactly how it happens, but somewhere between one step and the next it has become a man. A man dressed in a tailored maroon dress shirt, a black waistcoat and trousers and five hundred quid shoes. A man with my father's face.

He stops for a minute and takes time to adjust his cufflinks.

"Surprised to see me Mahmoud?", he drawls in a upper crust accent - somewhat like the twins' grandfather.

I'm lost for words. How?

"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't have noticed would you?" He continues fussing with his cuffs, and then he raises his eyes to meet mine.

He's not my father. It's his body alright, but those eyes - an inferno lies behind them, as if all the hate in the world is caged within. His presence exudes a malevolence more noxious than the whole of the horde behind him.

He answers my next question before I speak.

"Yes. Your father is now sharing his body with a daemon."

He takes a step forward.

"A high daemon to be precise."

My heart dives into the pit of my stomach as he takes another step. He's an arm's length away now.